


Nobody Hits My Brother But Me

by chrissie0707



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissie0707/pseuds/chrissie0707
Summary: Missing scene for 8.09 "Citizen Fang." Nothing really screams trust quite like leaving your brother handcuffed unconscious and bleeding to a radiator.





	Nobody Hits My Brother But Me

Martin hits Dean in the exact right spot to send him straight to the floor, ragdoll limp.

Sam's jaw drops and his eyes dart between the hunter and his fallen brother, feeling incredulous and pissed and worried, without a clue which should take precedence.

The older man's gaze is wide and shifty as he scrubs a hand across his chin and drops into a crouch. "Sorry about the headache, kid," Martin mutters apologetically, reaching out to pat Dean's shoulder.

"Get your hands off of him," Sam snaps, _pissed_ moving in to take a decided lead. There's a switch that flips when Dean isn't there, or is down and out, and his venomous tone does well to back Martin up. He moves swiftly to take the vacated spot at his brother's side, pressing a heavy, concerned hand against Dean's chest.

"We're only gonna get one chance at this fang, Sam."

Hand twisted in the fabric of Dean's jacket, he whirls and shoots the man a lethal glare. "Martin. Just – just stand there, shut up, and give me a damn minute to make sure you didn't cave in my brother's skull."

Sam turns his attention back to Dean, heart thudding with remorse and guilt even though he's not the one who took that swing. He sucks in a tight, sympathetic breath and studies the gouge carved over his brother's eyebrow, runs his thumb through the blood already collecting there.

"Looks worse than it is, Sam. You know that."

Sam understands that Benny is a danger and that Dean's got a blind spot as wide as purgatory when it comes to the vampire. Hell, he'd _wanted_ his brother sidelined for this hunt. But in the moment, he sort of wants Dean to snap up from the carpet and clock the son of a bitch.

But Martin had heard Dean's words as a threat and he knows what he's doing, and his brother doesn't so much as _twitch_ as Sam raises his eyelids and checks his pupils. They react properly, but combination of blood and stillness tugs at Sam, and it takes a fair amount of self-restraint to keep from taking a shot at the hunter himself.

He sits back on his heels and runs his hands through his hair, weighing his options. Weighing the lives at risk by Benny going free against the unquestionable risk to himself in leaving Dean behind. In leaving him like this.

They'd given Dean the time he'd asked for, and Sam doesn't feel any better about the thought of letting the vampire go. Evidence – _heaps_ of it – versus Benny's _story._ And Sam has to think, if their roles were reversed, _what would Dean do?_

What _did_ Dean do?

_No_ , he almost immediately course-corrects. Because if this is about anything, it's not about Amy.

It's about Ruby.

Sam's had a lot of opportunity since he first shook Benny's hand to think back on each and every time he'd defended Ruby's actions and intentions to his brother, or stood between them, or hauled Dean away from her and threw him to the floor.

This thing with Benny isn't about righting some sort of wrong where Amy is concerned, or about balancing the scales of dead friends. This is about keeping Dean from making the same mistakes Sam had, in trusting the wrong people. Not even _people._

They share a bond that Sam's had no part of – no demon blood stoking the fire, but the trauma of purgatory. Time in the trenches, in a war zone, fighting for survival.

It's different, but it's the _same damn thing._

"He's gonna be pissed when he wakes up," Martin says, pointing a finger down at Dean. "We gotta restrain him, keep 'im here and buy us some time."

Sam frowns, wants to argue with the man, can't. But he'll be damned if Martin touches his brother. "I'll do it." But he doesn't move.

"Come on, Sam. We gotta go."

"Yeah," Sam says, nodding to himself. While he would have preferred words to fists or weapons, and trying to _talk_ Dean around to his way of thinking, Sam can't deny that he and Martin share a common goal. Waste the vamp, and stop people from dying. Protect Dean.

It's a cocktail of jealousy, justice, and just plain knowing better that draws him to their duffels.

He fishes out the handcuffs easy enough, but realizes Martin's right. Dean may have gone down hard but he won't stay out long, and he'll not only be _livid_ , but he'll find a way to warn Benny that they're coming. Sam needs to slow him down, and doesn't really have the time to ferret out everything from his brother's jacket pockets capable of picking the cuffs.

He drags off Dean's jacket first, cautiously and gingerly tugging the sleeves down his brother's floppy, Gumby arms as his head rolls loosely against his shoulders. Sam makes sure Dean's cell phone is in a pocket, then tosses it aside on the bed.

Behind him, Martin's moving about the room with fidgety, jerky steps, muttering to himself while he packs a duffel bag and dons his own leather coat and ball cap.

His brother might groan a faint sound of pain and displeasure as Sam props him up against the wall and snaps a cuff loosely around Dean's left wrist, or it might just be wishful thinking on his part.

Dean starts to slide against the brick and Sam catches him gently, tips him to the floor so he doesn't inadvertently tug on the cuffs.

"We've got a job to do, Sam."

Like he's wasting time making sure Dean is okay. Sam rises, turns, and Martin's holding out his jacket for him, eyebrows raised expectantly. He clenches his jaw, rips his jacket from the hunter's hand and drags it on.

Martin reaches up, pats him on the shoulder. "This is the right thing, Sam. Trust me."

But Sam's just about full up with thoughts of _trust._ He'd been stung by the implication that a _vampire_ is more trustworthy than he is, and maybe that's really why he'd just stood there. Why he hadn't stepped in to intercept Martin's swing.

Sam pauses in the middle of the room, looks back at Dean. This is the right thing, and he _knows_ that. Given enough time, Dean will know it, too.

Probably a lot of time, because nothing really screams _trust_ quite like leaving your brother handcuffed unconscious and bleeding to a radiator.

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> I've struggled for years to make sense of Sam's head at this moment. This came to me while rewatching the show over the summer.


End file.
